


Alibaba, Taken

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 5
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/F, Kidnapping, Molestation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Stripping, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:30:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Three years after the "bad" ending of the game, The Phantom Thieves continue to take hearts. During a regular reconnaissance mission by Ryuji, Yusuke and Futaba, an unexpected guest visits the Oracle herself at her home...





	Alibaba, Taken

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short one-shot to ease myself into the idea of writing smutty bondage stuff for a public appeal for once. On top of that, it's also the requirement for my confirmation within a community I just joined, so two birds with one stone?
> 
> I wrote it all on my phone, so I apologize if the formatting is a bit funny. I plan on really getting into some more intricate, lengthier tales now though, with Futaba definitely the muse of a few of them. :)

 

**“** Eeheehee…” 

 

Alibaba’s trademark chuckle, symbolizing her own mischievous nature. Of course, as per usual, no one would be able to hear it except Futaba Sakura, the recently-turned eighteen year-old girl who had herself holed up in her dark bedroom, illuminated only by an unusual green glow from both her own desk-bound personal computer and a thicket of screens mounted on the wall behind her, above her bed. 

 

For three years now, she had been working from here as the mission control for the escapades of the illusive Phantom Thieves, scourge of Tokyo, nay; all of Japan. Some things had changed from their days secretly daylighting as high school students, while others, had not. For example, Futaba. While all of her friends had grown into decent young adults and had their bodies all nice and shapely, all that time spent malnourished under her abusive uncle’s ‘care’ had left her...relatively the same. She puffed out her cheek at this thought, still rather irritated by it. 

 

Ann was busy posing for increasingly risque magazines and the like with her attractive,  _ sexy  _ body; Makoto was off in Police Academy, having decided to take a more active route in pursuing justice as opposed to her original goal of shadowing her sister, and Haru was even big---err,  _ more mature  _ than ever, working as the full-time CEO of Okumura Foods. Their secret identities as the Phantom Thieves had not differed, however.

 

Right now, at the main screen, Futaba sat in her usual state of crisscross atop her gaming chair, furiously typing away on her keyboard. The heat generated from the gross abundance of technology, and the hot summer air outside had pushed Futaba to stripping down to just a black, strapped crop-top and her similarly dark panties, and even then sweat was notably pouring off her, sticking her moist clothes tightly to her skin.  _ Thank God for Mad Bull. _ She thought to herself, grabbing the cool, open can next to her for a moment of respite, sipping it down. 

 

In front of her on the monitor was a live feed of Ryuji and Inari, dressed in casual wear in front of the entrance leading to an underground train station. Not their usual Shibuya haunt from their childhood, but instead a lesser, abandoned one on the outskirts of the city. One known for housing dangerous criminals and their gangs. Futaba pressed a key down, and then pulled her face closer to a microphone installed at the base of her screen. “Hey, Skull, Inari, what’s taking so long? Isn’t it kind of rude to keep a cute girl waiting?” Skull---rather, Ryuji Sakamoto, growled and spoke up in his usual far-too-loud, obnoxious mannerism, emoting with frustration on the other side of the feed (much to the red-head’s amusement), “We’re goin’ as fast as we can, Oracle! We’re lookin’ for a side entrance, dammit!” Unsurprisingly, Inari---a.k.a Fox or Yusuke Kitagawa---also felt the need to throw in his own quip, to Futaba’s equal  _ dismay _ . “...mm, and wouldn’t you say that one of your stature and size be more akin to a  _ little _ girl, and therefore not one we would be  _ attempting  _ to entertain or charm?” 

 

Futaba gritted her teeth but remained quiet, though her face was flush with embarrassment and anger. At least that annoying Inari couldn’t have the pleasure of seeing her reaction. She went to begin searching for more GPS data that might be hidden in deeper recesses of the internet, but a sudden knocking on the door in her rear caught her attention. It was a very gentle, kind rapping that assured her they at least meant no harm, something her paranoia would often cause her to worry over. 

 

“Futaba-chan? It’s Ann.” _Ann?_ Futaba pressed a thumb up to her lips, re-seating herself from the excursion she was about to take to answer. _Didn’t she have a photo shoot today?_ _It was probably cancelled._ After all, that voice was definitely, positively Ann’s. Even if it wasn’t, it was so close that even though it was muffled by a wall, the girl could easily associate it with her fellow Phantom Thief, the provocative yet kind-hearted Panther. Not caring to throw anything of greater decency on in the presence of a close friend, Futaba stood up onto her bare feet, clapping them against the laminate wooden boards beneath her, and made her way over to the door. She lurched it open, revealing a rather bizarre, almost unbelievable sight.

 

A woman stood before her wearing a skintight, form-fitting black latex suit, with the chest area unzipped similarly to how Ann would normally wear her Metaverse outfit. The weirder part was that, in place of the expectantly normal face of the aforementioned, a black dominatrix mask covered her head completely save for space for her trademark pigtails to be free. While Futaba stood agasp, the lady that was supposedly Ann laughed innocently. “Oh, sorry Futaba. I uh...didn’t really have time to change out of my current shoot’s getup.” _And what exactly were you SHOOTING?_ Along a long, blending dark belt sat an array of gags, handcuffs, shackles and more, all dangling from her waist. Hard to believe a few years ago this same girl was too nervous to pose naked for Inari’s art.

 

“Ahaha...uhm, anyway, Futaba. I thought since I was in the area, I’d come check up on you and see how it’s going. Today was one of the mission days, right?” Futaba nodded, still evidently shaken a bit by her friend’s apparel. Despite this, she gestured for Ann to come in, then started heading back to her desk. Once there, feeling the presence behind her to assure she was observing, Futaba began opening tabs and windows to show the current situation. “A-As you can see, they’re having trouble finding a more stealthy route in so we can do some scouting. We need their names after all before we can enter the Palace.” 

 

Ann was silent, but Futaba figured it was probably due to her usual airheadedness, challenged only by the idiocy of Ryuji. She decided to take the moment to stretch, since it might take a little for her visitor to comprehend and process the information. Leaning back with her hands behind her head, her eyes met a smug, sinister smile above her. Before she could react, the chair had been yanked out from underneath her, and her wrists had been locked tightly in a set of pristine steel cuffs, the lack of any way to support her descent causing her to land harshly on her back, though only seconds later with incredible precision and method she was now on her stomach with her hands held behind her, above her underwear-clad, lightly-rounded bottom. “A-Ann, wh-what are you doing?! That’s not funny I’m not i-into that kinda thing!”

 

The figure kneeling behind her snickered, and though she couldn’t see them, she heard a rustling noise like someone searching through a bag for an object. “You’re pretty dense for being the original Medjed, you know that? I’m not Ms. Takamaki.” The voice was no longer anything like Ann’s, but instead the sadistic, deeper tone of a woman in her thirties. “I’m both a professional con-artist, and a secret agent for the very group you’re currently trying to change the hearts of. You’re our prisoner now.” Futaba’s heart skipped a beat and her body plummeted into a cold sweat, but she began kicking at her female captor furiously, attempting to break free. This elicited nothing more than a scoff as something cool and metallic forced its way around the girl’s ankles now, lurching closed with an echoing, loud snap. The only thing Futaba gained from shaking her thin, pale legs around now was the sound of rattling chain links. 

 

“S-Sojiro!” she screamed out for her guardian. The only response was more wicked laughter, as the heel of the gang member pressed against her rear. “I already took care of him at the door. He’s a fighter, so he took in a  _ bit _ more chloroform than I’d intended. He might be in a little coma for the next forty-eight hours.”  _ No! No way!  _ “But it will be hard transporting you to our designating holding zone if you’re going to be so noisy. Good thing this disguise doubles with the very much real props included, hahaha!” 

 

Suddenly, a strange presence met the lips of the girl’s mouth. Its texture wasn’t easily describable, but the sensation shocked her enough to force her mouth open in exasperation. This was just enough time for the thin piece of unknown material and a set of straps to ease its way around her jaw and sit snugly in her teeth. As expected this prompted an attempt at screeching, all of which was in vain as it was muffled into nothing more than a moan. The next thing she knew, she was being held up by the shackles about her hands and ankles simultaneously, and pressed against the most comparatively barren of her busy walls. Her feet were lowered back onto the floor with a thunk as the chains connecting them smacked the wood, but her torso was being aggressively shoved forward, her small breasts squeezing painfully against wallpaper.

 

“I can’t let this opportunity go completely to waste, and let only the men have their way with you once you’re locked up nice and tightly back at the base, though…” A slender, feminine finger began pressing around the cloth-covered ass of the hostage, soon followed up by another, then another, as they massaged the area. Like a spider, they crawled their way up Futaba’s soft cheeks, before meeting the waistband, all to groans and screams of discomfort into the gag locked unmovingly around her face. With slow, intricate movement, the band was pinched and lowered, the crease of the petite teen’s butt being publicly unveiled. “Hhhhoffh!” Futaba spat incomprehensibly. Her request for it to cease was effectively unacknowledged as the panties fell down loosely around the boundary of her restraints. “How disappointing. Not only are you flat in front, but you’ve got nothing back here either. Oh well, this isn’t what I’m here for…”

 

The lanky appendages tip-toed along the newly-unveiled hips of the bound girl, seeking only one prize. Their grasp slipped along her leg and met with her upper pelvic region, eagerly tracing the lines leading down to her crotch. Spit splattered down Futaba’s mouth as she struggled to escape molestation, squeezing her eyes shut. But it was for naught, as the gentle, faint follicles of hair marking her slit were violated by external forces. An index finger pushed its way through the tiny hedge, before arriving directly on top of the innocent lips of her labia. The dominatrix toyed with this sacred area for what felt like minutes, before she finally caved and prodded her finger directly into the opening. “Oh my...you’re already so moist here. Then again, that’s what  _ all _ stereotypical sexual assaulters say, isn’t it?” she giggled surprisingly innocently, “I’m actually heterosexual...this is merely entertaining to me as I get to see you flustered and humiliated.”

 

A knee pressed up into the spot between Futaba’s ass cheeks, but not directly against her hole. It seemed to be designed merely to be enough to keep her restrained against the wall, as the invading hands left her pussy, droplets of fluid dripping from the temporarily spread lips. A gasp of relief chokingly fought its way out of Futaba’s throat, with it already being awkward to breathe due to her gag and the stuffiness of her nose. It wouldn’t last, as the sweat-soaked top was torn from her skin, meticulously risen around her arms and eventually straight up snapped at the strap so that it would come loose. Without a bra beneath, Futaba was left completely vulnerable and nude, only a soft, hardly visible jiggle announcing the release of her small tits, her nipples hard and pronounced due to her predicament. Scissor-like pincers teased her pointed bits, the undesired pleasure only leading to more moans and gasps from beneath a tightly implemented gag.

 

“I guess I can admit that you’re kind of cute. I almost feel bad though because you’re basically a child in appearance. The boys like that kind of thing though.” With a pat on the ass, the woman yanked her prisoner to her side, placing her in front of her own body while latched onto her cuffed wrists. “Guess we should have you march---or perhaps more accurately,  _ hobble _ to the car then.” Futaba argued in disapproval but it meant nothing, and not just because not a word of it was audible. 

 

Awkwardly the naked girl stumbled down the hall from the hindrance of both the irons and her own panties, twisted around her ankles. When the challenging task of tripping down the stairs was finally over, the captor and her captive passed through the living room, where a distraught Futaba came face to face with her own unconscious father, sprawled out on the floor. She instinctively mouthed his name, but not a peep came out of her. Tears had now begun to well and stream down the smooth skin of her face. Yet there wasn’t a thing she could do to fight back. The witch that had captured her only chuckled in recognition of this.

 

At last they reached the front door, sending Futaba through another shock. Was she really going to be led right into daylight, naked and chained up like this? It wasn’t a busy neighbourhood but…

 

Without a chance to say anything that would have inevitably been censored, the girl was tossed out into the sun, prompting her to wince but managing to keep her balance just barely. Fortunately the streets seemed quiet enough, though passing teens oohed and aahed when they caught a glimpse, only shooed off once the gravity of her kidnapping was made clear. Everyone else was likely indoors, avoiding the heat, like Futaba really wished she was once the wave smacked her naked figure, and the hot cement beneath her bare feet burned at her toes. The car was also not far off, and it had darkened windows, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry about being visible as they drove off to her new home. 

 

Laid like an object onto her chest, with an additional clip added between the tiny chain of her handcuffs and the long one connecting her ankle cuffs, Futaba laid effectively hog-tied. She could only hope everyone else would figure out what was happening, and change the hearts of these criminals in time.

 

Until then, Futaba had a long night ahead of her in the basement of a crack den.

  
  



End file.
